"My husband came over to Egypt to find a wife,"
says the small dark women with the unlikely name of Henrietta
"and that was me. I was 14 years old."
She lies sunk deep into her bed,
and there is no way of knowing what is wrong.
In a few days she will tell me,
or I will work up the courage to ask.
Chris thinks he's a chump,
but hell he has nothing on me.
I followed a rabbit down a pink petal strewn hole
while the planes flew low overhead.
"I bore 20 children, but 4 of them died," Henrietta says.
On the other side of the curtain that surrounds her bed,
one of the nurses grimaces and crosses her legs.
Horsemen.